


Heroes and Villains - Of Tricks and Treats

by irishlullaby13



Series: Heroes and Villains [21]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Ichabbie Holloween, The Captain and the Siren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: A Captain and Siren Halloween Special.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Year One

Ichabod slowly walked through the manor on cautious, stockinged feet. He had been left alone at the manor for the evening. There was nary a soul, save himself in the restored walls. No demons, no horsemen, no Freemasons. Just himself, holding a candelstick aloft as he crept about trying to find out what the sound had been. 

This meant he had free reign of the manor because it wasn't always determinate when anyone would seek to return and check on him. The being alone wouldn't be such an issue except it was All Hallow's Eve. There was no telling what sort of ghostly creatures were running amok beyond the manor doors.

After all, there was an Apocalypse taking place.

His ears pricked when he heard a soft feminine voice humming from somewhere on the lower level of the manor. It had been the sound of breaking glass that had gotten his attention. He had lit the candles and prepared his trusty flintlock pistol. He eased down the steps. “If you are an intruder, I am giving you fair warning that I am armed.”

If his voice quivered in the slightest at the idea that one of the modern ruffians had invaded the manor... he wasn't about to admit to anyone ever. To be fair, at this juxtaposition, Ichabod was not entirely sure if he would prefer one of the Moderns to be in his home or some kind of spectre. 

“Bingpot.”

Ichabod froze as he caught sight of a tiny figure opening a previously locked chest in the foyer, followed by her giving a small groan to find there was nothing more than silly trinkets and blankets inside. As he stepped closer he noticed she had some of the _ear bud_ things in place. One of the masons had a fondness for them whilst listening to a tiny device he claimed held a treasure trove of music and _audio books_ —and Ichabod was still trying to wrap his head around the concept that people paid for books which were being read by another.

He tilted his head, uncocked his pistol, and set it upon one of the decorative tables that littered the manor. Taking a quick look around, he saw the mirror that had once been nestled in the corner was shattered and several pieces were on the floor. It looked as though the mirror had been unceremoniously punched.

The woman paused and straightened her back. She removed one of the earbuds and seemed to be listening for some kind of sound. After a moment she shook her head and let the bud dangle unsecured. “This place is fucking creepy,” she said under her breath as she removed several of the blankets. “Oh sure... go check out the ominous manor near the equally ominous graveyard that is next to the dark and dreary forest, late at night, on fucking Halloween. _Such_ a good idea...”

Ichabod kept his steps light as he moved closer then leaned down. The sweetest of scents invaded his senses. “And you broke a mirror,” he said quietly.

She screamed. He screamed and leapt back just in time to avoid having an elbow to the face. However, she still managed to throw him on the floor and straddle his chest, fist drawn back, with ludicrous ease. Ichabod blinked up at her. “ _You_ ,” he scoffed.

It was the mystery woman that had seemed to have taken to task to put a stop the Apocalypse single-handedly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I live here. Might I ask the same of you, Miss...?”

“None'ya Business,” she replied tartly.

“My query remains Miss _Business_ ,” Ichabod huffed.

“I was looking for something, obviously,” she said with sarcasm dripping from her tone. “I thought the house was empty.”

“And _I thought_ I made certain to set the alarm code in the security device, yet my mobile _phone_ has not once chimed with a call from a representative to make certain I am not in need of police assistance.” 

The woman stared down at him curiously for a moment then began laughing. “That's because they call one of your freemason buddies when the alarm goes off. Maybe your little buddy thought you had just pushed a wrong button and told them not to worry about checking in on you.”

“That's... disconcerting.” Although not entirely unexpected if he were being honest. They wanted him dead at any rate. He would probably already be so if they could decide whether he was actually of import to the Apocalypse or not. In part he had this _woman_ to thank for giving them doubt.

They had been ready to force him to drink a poison to kill the Headless Horseman but Moloch had pointed out that there was a second Witness—the woman, he had called her. _“She is powerful,” Moloch had stated. “Should she ever discover her powers, only the other Witness will have the knowledge to defeat her.”_

The Freemasons had been debating, ever since, whether the second Witness posed a threat or if Moloch was, as one of them put it, “talking out of his ass.” It had been seeing her take down some of the minions of Moloch that had preserved his life. There had been debate as to what kind of threat she could potentially be. And Ichabod had been the only one, thus far, to interact with her face-to-face.

She was a crafty woman, undoubtedly. She possessed a charm that drove him to distraction and made them underestimate her. Just a few weeks past he had discovered she was much tinier than they had originally believed. The Masons had tried their damnedest to get answers about her from him. They had tried to get him to sketch a portrait of her so they could try and figure out who she was behind the mask—he had claimed to not have the ability to do so. They had asked him if she had displayed any kind of magical abilities.

He had cited an impeccable skill with locks, which had not impressed them too thoroughly. 

But she did have another skill which he was none too keen to share. Mostly because he was not certain as to how this modern era would take to the idea of a gentleman such as himself becoming enamoured by woman with her skin tone. Oh, he knew very well the abolitionist had been successful long after the country itself had been freed—and he was disappointed with how long it actually took to do so. 

He had read several history books during his imprisonment—and yes, he considered it an imprisonment regardless of the fact he could leave whenever he wanted because the world beyond the walls of the manor terrified him more than a horde of Moloch's minions. He knew of court cases and judgements and amendments and rulings that would have made his enamourment _legal_ at the very least. But he still knew very little of the societal perspectives. It had been frowned upon in his day. Although that had not exactly stopped him in his youth when a mutual adoration with a lovely french girl had caused a stir with his parents, he didn't want to risk angering the Masons and having them hang him for having such feelings.

So they would never know of how she could so easily mystify him. How she intrigued him... How he had only been able to get proper sleep after trying to pinpoint the lovely scent that wafted from her hair and skin. To be fair, he was mostly curious as to how something so tiny could fling him to the ground as though he were weightless.

The candle snuffed itself out as it hit the floor and rolled away from the candlestick.

It suddenly occurred to him... was that part of the 'powers' that Moloch claimed she possessed? Was she able to bewitch and ensnare a man with her beautiful dark eyes and the lips so luscious they should be ordained unholy? Was her ability to throw him over so easily due to some supernatural strength?

The woman leaned over him. She put a hand against the floor on either side of his head, bracing herself above him. “Disconcerting his how little resistance you show to a strange woman that has broken into your home, admitted to trying to steal something, and assaulted you.”

“I assumed seven years of bad luck was punishment enough for you,” he commented, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he studied her mouth.

“You assume too much, Captain Crane,” she replied coyly. “Superstitions don't shake me.”

“Then tell me, my lovely little songbird, what would it take to _shake you_?” he replied.

“Lovely little songbird?” she asked curiously. “I thought I was your pretty little siren?”

Ichabod wrapped his arms around her and in one quick motion, had her pinned beneath him. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she sucked in a deep breath. She was soft and curvaceous. “I am trying to decide which is more suitable for the woman who refuses to tell me her name,” Ichabod replied, stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. “And sings like an angel.”

She snorted lightly. “How would you know? Or is that just an assumption because I'm black?”

“Each time we have crossed paths I have heard you singing or humming,” Ichabod replied. She shot him an incredulous glare. “And I cannot help but wonder, what other talents does your lovely mouth possess...”

She arched a brow and smirked. “Wouldn't you like to find out?”

“Well... I _did ask_ what it would take to render you _shaken_.”

“I don't sing,” she replied. “Although I do have to say I've never been asked what my mouth can do in such an elegant manner before. I almost took it as a compliment.”

“You do sing.”

“No I don't.”

“You do.”

She shook her head gently. “I don't.” She sighed softly. “I'm bored. Bye.”

He was about to ask what she meant but something hard connected with the side of his head and he blacked out. As it turned out, the candlestick he had been holding had fallen well within her reach and that was what she had used to knock him out.

He spoke nothing of the confrontation to the Masons nor Moloch. He just made certain to have the mess cleaned up by time they returned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Year Three

Jenny was curious about the way Captain Crane was studying her sister's ass as she wriggled it before sending the bowling ball flying down the lane toward the pins. Hell, she was still trying to get used to the idea that he was even assisting her with this new tribulation so the fact he was checking her out was down right perplexing. Add in the fact he was actually outside of the manor, _willingly_ , and indulging in social activities, it was just weird.

All ten of Abbie's pins dropped and she put her hands into the air with victory. “Ha! You're up Captain. We'll try not to dog you too hard since you've never played before.”

A small smirk pulled at the corner of the Captain's lips and his brow arched as he pulled himself out of his seat and walked over to the lane. “Perhaps, Miss Adams, you would be so kind as to show me what to do?” he asked, giving her a small but elegant bow, sweeping his hand toward the rack of balls.

If Jenny hadn't been too busy rolling her eyes, she may not have missed the way her sister looked him over before giving a bemused, “Sure.” However, Jenny didn't miss the way his eyes focused in on Abbie's chest while she was rotating a ball in her hands to show him the grips. He cast a glance toward Joe then his eyes went right back to cleavage, his face flushing pink.

Jenny made a mental note to chide him about it if he royally screwed up his turn. _Maybe next time you'll pay attention to what she's saying instead of her tits_ , was the one that stuck at the forefront of Jenny's brain. Although, it was kinda hard to blame him, Abbie _was_ killing it in her Beyonce costume.

Abbie pulled him over in front of the lane and put the ball in his hands. She manhandled him into different positions he would 'need to try and be in' while taking his turn. He was grinning like a jackass and kept looking at Joe.

“ _Hey_ , pay attention to me not Joe,” Abbie scolded when she caught him sharing a glance with Joe. “Joe, quit distracting him.”

His expression turned absolutely innocent and he nodded dutifully. “My most profound apologies Miss Adams.”

Jenny side eyed Joe. He looked like he was ready to laugh his ass off but was hiding it behind his beer bottle. “What's so funny?” Joe shook his head. “No... nah-uh. Spill it Corbin.”

Abbie was now standing in front of the Captain, showing him how to bend his knees and... there she went with the butt wiggle. Was she part cat or something, Jenny wondered to herself. One thing was for sure, the Captain was more concerned about Abbie's ass than how to bend his knees to get ready for taking his turn.

Joe leaned close to her and moistened his lips. “The reason I suggested bowling was because it was one of the few sports that was around in his day. He knows how to play.”

Jenny almost spewed beer everywhere. Then why the hell did he... “Oh my God,” Jenny said in a low tone. “I think the Captain has the hots for Abbie.”

“Y'think?” Joe asked. 

“Do you... know something I don't?” Jenny asked.

Joe was quiet a moment. “Nope. I do not. I know nothing,” Joe said a little too quickly for her tastes.

“What do you know, Joe?” 

“I told you, I know nothing,”

Jenny stared at him hard for a long moment. “There better not be anything to know.”

Joe sighed heavily. “Look, yes, he has... a little _thing_ for her but... as far as I know it's not mutual.”

Jenny pulled a face. “I need another beer. I'm not drunk enough for this shit.” She meandered off to the bar to get a fresh round for everyone, taking one of the seats to sit there and watch as Abbie took a step back from the Captain and gestured toward the lane. She shook her head as he carefully went through all the steps Abbie had “taught him” before just doing his thing and sending the ball down the lane.

A strike.

Nice.

And that earned him a hug from Abbie which lasted much longer than should have been decent—one of his hands drifting down her spine and the other cradling the back of her head—and ended with Abbie having to pry herself away to answer her phone. The longing in the Captain's eyes as she stepped away made Jenny's heart hurt just a little. Joe hadn't been kidding. But that was way more than just a little _thing_.

But still... it was a _a thing_ that would never happen in a million years, Jenny knew. She knew Abbie well enough to know that much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Year Four

Trick or treating had always Abbie's favourite thing about Halloween. Dressing up in fun or cute costumes, begging the people that lived in the big manors and fancy houses for candy, eating so much of said candy it made her sick the next day. As an adult things went a little differently. As a witness it meant supernatural crap was _bound_ to happen, but Joe and Jenny were filling in for the night just in case.

As Abbie Mills, it meant having about 10 little girls dressed up like her Siren alter ego and them dog piling the Captain, hitting him with pillows, while she sat on the sofa laughing her ass off while eating all the chocolate from the bowl intended for trick or treaters. She had to hand it to them, trying their best to brighten her day considering the doctor had put her on strict bed rest just a few days ago.

_Stay off your feet, keep them elevated as much as possible, don't do too much to stress yourself._

It wouldn't be so bad if it hadn't come right at Halloween because she had promised the Captain's many times great granddaughter and her little friends that she would knock on doors with them. Also, it would have been understandable if she was ballooned up like a whale and waddling everywhere, but no... the little one in her belly was barely half way through its second trimester and was wanting to be too much like his damn daddy and be difficult.

Or _her_ daddy. Abbie hadn't wanted to find out just yet.

As soon as the Captain had discovered she was on bed rest, he had retrieved her from her house—despite her weak protests—and made her a cosy little nest in his bedroom. And when she got tired of the bedroom, he would carry her to the sitting room bridal style and do everything within his power to make her comfortable while he rubbed her feet and calves.

She had woken up that morning wanting out of the bedroom so she was in her sofa nest. Around dusk, Melody and her friends arrived and just brightened her damn day with their antics. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard.

“Mercy... mercy,” the Captain cried, laughter in his voice. “The real Siren would have mercy.”

“No the hell I wouldn't,” Abbie snorted, shoving another miniature snickers into her mouth. “Kick his ass, ladies. Kick. His. Ass.”

Once Carol returned from the store with more candy and Abbie's favourite juice, the girls were shuffled out of the door—each one of them giving her a hug before they piled out—and then it was just her, the Captain left in the sitting room. Abbie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him when he took the bowl of candy away from her, pulled her legs across his lap, and rested the bowl on her shins.

He plucked out a snickers and unwrapped it, waited for her to finish the one she was chewing, then fed her the one in his hand. “I believe, Miss Grace Abigail Mills... that you and I had reached an accord that if I ever discovered your true identity...”

Abbie shook her head. “I made that accord under duress. I was being held prisoner. Besides, my sister would kill you. Hell, she'd probably kill _me_. It's bad enough she knows you have a little crush on me... She thinks you have some kind of pregnant lady fetish too. Which I may or may not have inadvertently made her think.”

The Captain fed her another snickers. “You were not under duress. You were snowed in and the accord was your idea. In fact, finding out your real name was the only condition you had. Also, I have never known you to do anything inadvertently.”

“I've done plenty of things inadvertently,” Abbie argued. “Most of it involved you.” She rubbed her belly to emphasize her point. She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. I'll marry you. But you have to let me tell Jenny first. Which, I should probably go home in the morning. Floof gets moody if I'm not there to witness his rebirth at dawn. And there's probably already two days worth of feathers to sweep up.”

The Captain shifted his fingers through the candy until he dredged up the last two mini snickers bars. She snatched one from his hands when he picked it up. He blinked at her in full offense as she unwrapped it and was about to speak up when she bit the tiny bar in half. But then his eyes glimmered with affection when she offered him the uneaten half.

“I am certain Melody and her friends would be more than honoured to assist you with the tidying of your home,” the Captain stated.

Abbie swallowed hard as a wave of nausea hit her. Without warning she swung her legs off of Ichabod's lap and hauled ass to the bathroom, leaving scattered candy in her wake. She didn't even realize she had fallen asleep with her head hanging in the toilet until she woke up to being carried up the stairs.

“I have to go home,” she protested sleepily as she was settled onto the bed. 

“Not tonight my dear Siren,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her temple. “We do not need to risk there being foul spirits afoot that would seek to do you harm.”

She wanted to argue further but, as soon as he slipped into the bed behind her, wrapped her in his arms, and let his hand come to rest over the swell of her belly, she fell right back to sleep.


End file.
